by Paige Toon
‘I’ve got so much to do,’ Mum bemoans.
‘Go on,’ I urge. ‘You could do with a break.’
She hesitates and then agrees. ‘Okay. Thank you, Judy, that’d be grand.’
‘I’ll see you at the front door,’ Judy says, going back inside.
‘I don’t know why we didn’t just put a gate in at the end of the garden,’ Mum mutters. ‘It would have got enough use.’
‘That would have taken all the fun out of shimmying over the fence,’ I say.
‘Since when have you ever shimmied over the fence?’ Mum demands to know.
‘All three of us used to sneak over when Angus had hot friends staying.’
‘Rose!’ she admonishes. ‘Only now am I hearing about this?’
I laugh. ‘Too bad you can’t ground me.’
When she’s gone, I walk into the kitchen and look around at all of the items that still need bubble-wrapping. Mum’s right: there is still so much to do. I should get on. Or...
A minute later I’m lying on my bed with Eliza’s diary open to the page I left it.
Ten minutes later I’m sitting bolt upright on my bed with my scalp prickling uncomfortably. All of the blood in my body seems to have rushed into my face.
Oh my God! When Angus drunkenly kissed me at that party, he didn’t think I was his cherished Phoebe – he thought I was Eliza! The two of them had been at it the night before!
Chapter 12
Eliza
Well, that was a total waste of time. I’m on the train on my way back to Manchester after what proved to be a completely futile search for a new home. I’ll have to come back again next weekend. The thought depresses me.
I rest my head against the cool glass and stare at the scenery flashing past outside the window.
I’ve often wondered, if I could go back in time, would I do anything differently? I felt so lonely after my sisters flew the nest. Would I have had the strength to keep Angus at a distance?
I was the only one left of us to wave Angus goodbye when he set off for university and I hated admitting it, but it was his departure that hit me the hardest. I remember him hugging me goodbye and being surprised to find there were tears in my eyes when he withdrew. He brushed them away with his thumbs and told me he’d be back in three weeks for his mum’s birthday – maybe we could catch up then?
After he left, I would lie on my bed with my hand on the wall, imagining him on the other side. It was stupid, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t feel like singing or writing. I lost the will to do much of anything at all.
‘Cheer up, Lizziebeth, it’ll be okay,’ Dad kept saying. He didn’t like seeing me so listless, but he was pleased that I was still around. Mum had been volunteering at Priory Gardens so Dad and I hung out a bit. I remember us brainstorming money-making ideas. I was the one who suggested he and Mum turn the house into a B&B to keep them occupied in their retirement, and it was he who encouraged me to start busking to build up my confidence after the band broke up. I enjoyed having him to myself, even if he was primarily trying to take his mind off the loss of his Number One climbing partner.
I still remember the first time Angus called to speak to me – me. My stomach fluttered at the sound of his voice at the end of the line.
‘Liza,’ was all he said.
‘Hello,’ I replied with surprise. It had been two and a half weeks since he’d left for university. He was coming home for the weekend – I’d been counting down the days – but I hadn’t expected him to call.
‘What are you doing on Saturday?’ he asked.
‘Nothing.’ I’d kept it clear on purpose. ‘You’re home for your mum’s birthday, right?’
‘Yeah, it’s on Sunday, but I’m free on Saturday. You want to hang out?’
‘Sure,’ I replied, trying to sound cool, even as nerves bounced around my stomach. ‘What shall we do?’
‘Want to take a drive out to the Peak District for a picnic?’
‘Sounds great.’
We ended the call, but I sat staring into space for a long time afterwards. I knew he was just being kind because I was there on my own, but I wondered if Phoebe would mind me spending the day with him. If she rang before Saturday, I decided I’d double check with her.
But she didn’t ring, and four days later I waited for Angus to come round. He’d arrived home late the night before – I’d heard his Land Rover pull up on the driveway.
Mum and Dad had seemed a bit surprised to hear we were going out together, although they hadn’t specifically said anything against it. When the doorbell went, I jumped.
‘I’m off!’ I shouted down the hall.
‘Have fun!’ Dad shouted back.
I opened the door to Angus’s lovely smile. He was wearing light-grey cords and a long-sleeved dark-grey top layered under a black Bloc Party T-shirt. He’d been to see them on tour recently.
‘Got the sarnies?’ I asked, going outside and closing the door.
‘Yep.’
‘Better not be any fishy ones.’
‘You don’t like mackerel?’ he asked with surprise, opening the gate and standing back to let me pass.
I gaped at him. ‘You know I don’t like mackerel! I don’t like anything fishy! Not even tuna.’
‘Tuna’s not fishy. Not really. Especially when it’s mixed in with sweetcorn.’
‘Angus!’
‘I’m messing with you.’ He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and gave me a squeeze. ‘I’ve done us cheese and pickle,’ he said, letting me go again.
I’d seen him do that casual gesture with Phoebe so many times, but it was the first time he’d done it to me.
I didn’t think he noticed me blushing as we climbed in the car.
It wasn’t long before we were out of Manchester and winding our way through the hills of the Peak District. I looked past Angus to see a stream carving its way along the gulley down below. He followed my gaze.
‘How about somewhere around here?’ he asked.
It was October and there was a chill in the air, but that day it was only partly cloudy and when the sun came out there was real warmth to it.
We spread out our picnic rug by the stream. Angus left his car door open with The White Stripes blaring out of the stereo.
‘Show us your bits, then,’ he said.
I smirked as I got out some grapes, millionaire shortbread and two packets of salt and vinegar crisps. He grinned, passing me a sandwich.
‘I bet your mum and granddad were happy to have you home again,’ I said between mouthfuls.
‘Yeah.’ He scratched his head. ‘Well, Mum was. I think Granddad prefers the peace and quiet, but Mum misses me.’
‘Of course she does.’
He glanced at me with his multi-hued eyes. ‘How are your parents? Going from three to one must have been a blow.’
‘Yeah. I feel like an only child.’
‘That must be surreal,’ he said.
‘It sure is.’
‘Do you like it? Having them to yourself?’ he asked.
I thought about that for a minute. ‘Yes,’ I admitted. ‘But I’d rather have my sisters here. The house is very quiet without Phoebe.’ Her constant laughter and chatter had been silenced so suddenly. No one else could compete. No one else even tried. ‘And when Rose went to university, Mum moped for a week.’ I had known she’d be sad to lose Rose, but it had upset me more than I’d expected. I even missed her banging on my wall and shouting at me to turn my music down.
Angus smiled at me sympathetically as I swallowed and looked down at my sandwich.
‘What about you?’ I asked. ‘Are you pining for Phoebe?’
He didn’t answer immediately and my eyes shot up in time to see him shrug. ‘Yeah, but she’s been gone a while now.’
‘How often do you talk to her?’ I tried to sound casual, hiding the hurt I felt about my favourite sister barely calling me.
‘She’s texted me twice,’ Angus replied. ‘That’s it.’ H
e sounded flat.
‘She hasn’t called you?’ I asked with surprise.
‘Well, we are on a break,’ he said pointedly.
‘What?’
‘Didn’t she tell you?’ he asked with a frown.
I shook my head.
‘We thought that this year would be too hard, trying to keep a relationship going,’ he explained. ‘We decided to take a break and see how things are next year when she’s back.’
I was shocked. I’d thought Phoebe and Angus were in far too deep to ever consider climbing out, even temporarily. She’d lost her virginity to him – oh yes, she’d told us, not that it was necessary because it had been written all over her face. How could she have let him go if she’d loved him so much? Why hadn’t she confided in Rose and me?
‘You okay?’ Angus asked.
‘Yeah, I’m a bit taken aback, that’s all. It’s odd that Phoebe didn’t say anything.’
‘Have you always told each other everything?’ he asked.
‘More or less. At least, I thought so.’ Maybe she was more secretive than I knew. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter.’
We fell silent.
‘Do you ever wish you had siblings?’ I asked eventually.
His lips turned down at the corners and he shrugged. ‘Maybe I do, somewhere.’
I stared at him with confusion so he enlightened me.
‘I don’t know much about my real dad, other than that he’s American and he was in the army stationed near here. Oh, and he didn’t want anything to do with us when Mum told him she was pregnant. Who knows where he is now, if he’s married, if he has kids.’
I felt traumatised on his behalf. ‘Do you ever think about trying to track him down?’ I asked.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘My mum is the only parent I need – or want. Anyway, it’d be like a kick in the guts to her after all she’s done, raising me on her own.’
‘You said he was stationed near here,’ I said. ‘Did your mum live around this area when she was younger?’
‘She grew up in our house,’ he replied. ‘She was only eighteen when she fell pregnant – my grandparents threw her out. I didn’t even meet them until I was about six. I don’t think Mum’s forgiven them for that, but Granddad’s mellowed in his old age. They’re closer now than they ever used to be.’
‘No wonder you didn’t visit them often.’
‘Hmm, no great surprise. I was gutted when Mum said we had to move here.’
We fell silent. I was mulling things over, but eventually I just came out and said it.
‘I saw you once, in the park,’ I told him. ‘About a year before you left Brighton.’
‘Did you?’
‘You were on your skateboard.’
His eyes widened. ‘Did you speak to me? No,’ he answered his own question. ‘I would have remembered.’
I smiled at him and noticed something. ‘Your eyes are the same colour as the hills.’
‘Are they?’ He looked half mystified, half amused.
‘Yeah, look,’ I said with a smirk, nodding at the hills behind us. ‘A mottled mess of tawny brown and grassy green.’
‘A mottled mess?’ He raised one eyebrow. Then he said, ‘Look at me. Let me see yours.’
‘They’re exactly the same as Phoebe’s,’ I replied with a laugh.
‘No, they’re not,’ he said seriously. ‘I’m not quite sure what it is, but they’re not the same.’
‘They’re exactly the same,’ I insisted drily. ‘That’s the definition of identical.’
‘You’re not completely identical,’ he maintained. ‘I can tell the difference between you.’
‘Go on then, tell me how we differ. And you can’t just say it’s the way we wear our hair.’
‘Rose’s face is slightly rounder, softer,’ he said.
‘No, it’s not,’ I scoffed.
‘Phoebe’s eyes are ever so slightly a lighter shade of green.’
‘Bollocks. You’ve just spent a lot of time looking at them in the sunlight.’
He carried on with his analysis as though I hadn’t spoken. ‘And they both have a tiny sprinkle of freckles, here.’ He touched my nose and I flinched, surprised. ‘It’s probably because they spend more time outdoors. They’re so faint, you can barely see them, but you don’t have any at all.’ He met my eyes.
Butterflies swarmed into my stomach as I stared back at him.
A moment later, he looked away. ‘But before that, you’re right, it was the hair.’
I laughed uneasily. ‘Bet you couldn’t tell the difference between us if you were drunk.’
‘Bet I could,’ he replied flippantly.
Angus called me again the following week.
‘I just tried ringing Phoebe,’ he said.
‘I thought you weren’t in touch?’ I replied with confusion.
‘We said we’d stay friends, but anyway, she didn’t answer.’
‘Aw, are you lonely?’
‘Nah, just felt like a chat. Are you alright to talk for a bit?’
‘Sure, I’m not busy.’ I settled myself on the chair in the hall for what turned out to be the first of many phone conversations.
At first, we talked a bit about Phoebe, but as the weeks went on, she barely featured in our conversations. He told me all about his journalism course, his professors, his classmates and his drunken nights out in London, and I told him about life at home: my stop-gap job as a waitress at an Italian restaurant, my pervy boss Mario and the random amusing things that happened with my customers.
Every time the phone rang, my stomach swirled with jittery nerves. I knew I was in dangerous territory, but I couldn’t stop it.
Phoebe, on the other hand, barely called home. I was hurt and upset and just a little pissed off about it. She rang towards the end of November, just before setting off for Chamonix in France. She’d been inter-railing around Europe up until that point, but she and her friend Josie were planning to remain in the mountains until the spring, with just a short break when they’d return home for Christmas. I asked her outright if she was missing Angus.
‘Yeah, of course,’ she replied flippantly. ‘But I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had time to think about him or home much.’
She was so casual about their relationship that it made me wonder if she had ever loved him at all. Even Angus seemed quite content without her.
In the middle of December, the university term ended. Rose stuck around in Portsmouth for a bit, in no rush to leave behind her shiny new friends, but Angus came straight home.
When he hugged me hello, I felt like my heart was going to expand through my ribcage.
‘Hello, trouble,’ he said, releasing me only enough to smile down at me. ‘Miss me?’
‘Might’ve done,’ I replied.
Judy worked as a receptionist at a local lawyer’s office, so Angus and I spent most of the next few days in each other’s company. On Wednesday, he offered to drive me into the city to busk. He sat on a nearby bench, and every time I looked over he caught my eye and gave me an encouraging smile. At one point a couple of guys came and stood a bit too close and I saw him brace himself, ready to get involved if necessary. It was like he was my bouncer or something, but whatever it was, I felt protected.
‘Have you had any luck getting a gig?’ he asked me later, when we were hanging out in the tree house.
‘No,’ I replied edgily. ‘I don’t think I’m ready yet.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, of course you are.’
I flashed him a sheepish look. ‘Dad’s been going on at me, too. But I’m busy with waitressing and busking, and it’s not like we haven’t been round to a few venues.’
It was Dad’s idea to try to line something up, but with his thinning hair and my scratty pigtails, we probably looked like a right pair when we walked into places and asked to see the manager. I laughed at the knock-backs at first, but in truth, I was scared to death that I was screwing up my life. I had no career plans if the music t
hing didn’t work out. It was the only thing I cared about.
Well, not the only thing.
‘No one wants me,’ I told Angus. ‘They all say I’m too young, that I don’t have enough experience.’
‘Have you only been looking at bars in town?’
I nodded.
‘What about trying some working men’s clubs in the suburbs, just to get some experience?’ he suggested. ‘My granddad might know someone who’d be interested, that’s all. I could ask?’
‘Okay. Sure, why not?’
That evening, Angus came back over. His granddad’s ex-colleague Ernie ran a club just ten miles away and was interested in meeting me. The next day, we went there together. Within a minute of our introduction, Ernie was asking if I was free on Monday night.
‘He didn’t even want to hear me sing!’ I squeaked with delight on the way back home again. My first ever gig was four days away!
Angus chuckled. ‘The look on his face when he saw you.’ He shook his head with amusement. ‘He thought all his Christmases had come at once.’
I beamed at him. ‘Thank you!’ I exclaimed, leaning across to impulsively peck him on his cheek.
His face flushed, but he kept his eyes on the road.
Once my initial excitement subsided, all I was left with was tense anticipation. I had no idea if anyone would even turn up. Angus helped me make fliers and we distributed them locally. We hung out in the tree house going over my set list and I was touched that he was helping me.
Dad noticed how much time we were spending together. On Saturday afternoon before the gig, he brought it up. ‘You’re seeing a lot of Angus, Lizziebeth.’ He had taken to using my old nickname again and usually I loved it, but not that day.
‘We’re friends,’ I replied defensively, wanting him to butt out.
‘Do you think Phoebe would be okay with that?’ He raised one browny-grey eyebrow at me, his green eyes challenging.
‘Of course she would,’ I replied snappily. ‘Anyway, she knows. I don’t think she could care less, to be honest.’
I had occasionally dropped it into conversation that Angus and I chatted to each other, but as conversation with her was so occasional, it was possible it hadn’t properly sunk in.